


You're a Stranger I Know Well

by anything_thats_rock_and_roll



Category: The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, Mike is bad with feelings, Recording studios make everything harder, So is Bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anything_thats_rock_and_roll/pseuds/anything_thats_rock_and_roll
Summary: Mike is fed up with delays in the studio. Turns out the problem isn't what he thought it was.





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn’t take much to get Mike frustrated on a normal day, let alone a day like this. They’re four days into recording the next album, and they have yet to finish tracking a single song. He knows they’re hemorrhaging money with all this wasted time, and he knows that things will just go downhill faster as they all get antsy and sick of each other. Making records isn’t supposed to be like this. Making records is fast and easy and fun, at least when everything is going right. Things are not going right. Bill is in the isolation booth now, toying with the cable on his cans and swaying slightly out of time. They listen through the intro, and Mike holds his breath when they get to the part where Bill is supposed to come in. Maybe this time it’ll work. But Bill just shakes his head and takes off the headphones. The breath that Mike was holding escapes in a sort of growl. He’s about ready to go sing the damn song himself.

Mike can sing just fine, thank you very much, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that he’s not Bill. He doesn’t have Bill’s crystal clear upper register, he doesn’t have Bill’s wicked, slightly sarcastic emphasis on _just_ the right words, he doesn’t have Bill’s miles of stick-skinny legs, or his floofy, too-long hair, or his captivating smile. So no, he’s not Bill. Never mind the fact that _he built this band_ from the ground up, that it was his connections that got him their first gigs, that it was his musical leadership keeping the whole thing from falling apart. Bill is pretty, and funny, and charming, and he’s an “artist,” whatever the hell that means. Mike doesn’t believe in divine inspiration or whatever people think happens in bands. He believes in hard work, in practice, and in not quitting until the sound is perfect and nothing less. That’s how bands are made. That’s how hit songs are written.

But evidently that’s not how this record is going to be made, because Bill has proclaimed that “the energy isn’t right” for the third time today and left the studio for god-knows-where. He turns around to see the rest of the band pointedly looking at him. Of course, he thinks. Of course it’s his job to fix Bill. Never mind that he and Bill have always worked better when they’re actually _working_ , writing and arguing and creating together. He and Bill don’t talk much outside of that, and they certainly don’t have heartfelt conversations about that’s bothering either of them. But he sees Sisky turn to Butcher with a look that plainly reads, “you make him do it,” so he sighs and heads out the same door Bill left through.

Mike shrugs through the doorway just in time to see the slope of Bill’s back turn the corner and head towards the parking lot. “Oh no ya don’t,” he mutters as he picks up his pace. Bill will not leave them stranded _again._ He catches up to him just as he reaches his car.

“Bill! Hey, wait up,” Mike tries very hard not to sound as frustrated as he is. He knows that will only make Bill drive faster. Bill turns toward him, his eyes all challenges and something else Mike can’t read.

“What?” he asks petulantly. Mike clears his throat, trying to buy some time while he thinks of something to say. He can see in Bill’s face that he’s not fooling anybody.

“What’s going on, man? It’s going to shit in there.” Mike flinches a little bit, kicking himself internally. It’s true, but sometimes he has to remind himself that it’s not always a good idea to say things just because they’re true.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bill’s voice is bitter without the touch of honey that normally softens it. Mike wishes he had the right words, the ones that would make this all ok.

“Making records… playing music isn’t supposed to be like this,” he starts. “It’s never been this way before. All tense and stressed out and quiet.” Mike knows that the first step to getting out of a hole is to stop digging. This definitely counts as digging, but he keeps going anyway. “It’s our thing. It’s fun. It’s what we do. Together.”

“I know!” Bill bursts out. “I know it’s what _we_ do! I just… I can’t sing with you _looking_ at me.”

Whatever Mike was expecting, it wasn’t this. “ _I’m_ the problem? You can’t sing in front of me? Bill, when we started this, I was the only person you _would_ sing in front of!” He fights hard against the wave of hysterical laughter building up.

If possible, Bill looks even more upset. “I know. I remember. That’s the problem. Every time I look at you, I see … everything. And I can’t do it.” Bill bites his lip like he’s said too much, like he’s trying to take it back. Mike feels very sure he missed the significance of whatever Bill just said.

“What are you saying? That you want out of the band? That you want _me_ out of the band?”

“No, of course not.” Bill waves his hands at him. They remind Mike of pale, wiry bats, flapping around his head. “I want…” he trails off.

“Bill. William. If you tell me what you want, I will do every thing in my power to get it for you and to make this record. But you’ve gotta use words. Actual, spoken, recognizable words.” It strikes Mike as kind of hilarious that he’s lecturing anyone on using words to communicate their feelings.

Bill smiles ruefully and looks at the worn floorboards. “It’s not that simple.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that complicated.”

Bill studies him intently for a minute. Mike can hear the gears in Bill’s brain whirring, and it scares him. He has just enough time to wonder if he’s misjudged something, pushed too hard this time, before Bill is leaning forward and kissing him.

Mike knows that he’s not always the most observant in terms of people and feelings, but he’s pretty sure that unless he missed something vitally important, there was no way he could have seen this coming. This is _Bill_. Bill, who he’s been living with for years. Bill, who when they first moved in together made up a color-coded chart for what nights they could each bring girls back to the apartment.

It suddenly occurs to Mike that in all the time he’s been thinking, he hasn’t yet pulled away. He jerks back, hitting his head against the roof of Bill’s cramped old Toyota Camry. He starts to open his mouth but realizes he has no idea what to say.

“See?” Bill says, his voice dripping sadness and a hint of “I-told-you-so”. He opens the car door and slides out, leaving Mike in stunned silence with one hand touching his bottom lip. Eventually Mike comes back to his senses and gets out of Bill’s car. Instead of chasing after Bill this time, he walks slowly to his own car and starts the ignition.

The next morning, he shoots a text to their producer that he won’t be able to make it to the studio today. The producer surprises him by sending back that Bill already told him the band was taking a few days off. Mike laughs humorlessly and spends the rest of the day on his couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, finally posting this. I kind of hate the ending, but I wanted to get it finished. I couldn't stand leaving Bilvy and Mike all heartbroken like at the end of the last chapter!

The more he thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense. It starts to seem like somehow it was inevitable. It’s been the two of them for almost as long as he can remember. Bill and Mike, Mike and Bill. Whether they’re fighting or collaborating, it’s always the same. The way their energies clash and crash together. The way Bill throws himself and his ideas against Mike with as much force as his skinny self can muster, and Mike holds steady through it all. Mike is solid. Mike is dependable. Mike is _there_. It occurs to him how much of his identity is based on how he relates to other people. It’s how he sees himself: he’s the person who runs a tight fucking ship. He’s understated, often underappreciated, and so very competent. He’s the person who holds everything together when other people (Bill) are falling apart. He’s been Bill’s foil for so long that it feels like he’s forgotten how to be anything else.

            The more he thinks about Bill, the more the little details he didn’t even realize he knew start to pile up. Bill’s mannerisms, the way his words sound like they’ve come from some other century. The way Bill speaks is at once affected and 100% authentic, like pretty much everything else he does. The way his eyes flash when they argue, dancing between frustration, amusement, and something else that Mike thinks he might only now be staring to understand. Bill’s love of physical affection for anyone and anything, how handsy he gets when he’s anxious or excited. Going through old tour photos in a rare bout of nostalgia, Mike notices his smile, broader and more carefree in every shot of him and Bill than in any other pictures. Slowly, Mike starts to think that Bill might not be crazy. Maybe this is a two way street. Maybe it always has been.

            He contemplates sending Bill a text.

            But it seems too hard to put the mess swirling around his head into words, and in the end he abandons the effort in favor of watching another episode of Criminal Minds. It isn’t until Monday morning that he realizes he’s due back in the studio at 10. There’s no way he can keep avoiding Bill now. And if his hands are a little bit jittery against the wheel as he points his car in the direction of the studio, he’ll blame it on the extra cup of coffee he had this morning.

            When he opens the door, he stops short and has to remind himself how to keep walking. It’s dark, empty except for Bill in the booth singing warm ups. Mike looks at his watch and realizes he’s 20 minutes early. He must have driven faster than he thought.

            He meanders down the hallway to start yet another cup of coffee before heading into the control room. He’s not sure if Bill has noticed him yet, and something in him doesn’t want to disturb their quiet balance. Mike pauses with his finger on the light switch, studying Bill through the glass for a second before he flips the overheads on. Bill’s head snaps up, note dying in his throat. Mike waves and tries for a smile that must not be very convincing, because Bill only nods and turns around before he’s singing again.

            Mike drops his hand and jumps as the door squeaks open behind him, bringing in the warm, happy cacophony of Butcher and Sisky. Chiz scoots in the door behind them, deep in conversation with the engineer. Sisky shoots him a quick look, silently asking what the energy will be like today. Mike shakes his head uselessly.

            Predictably, it becomes clear within minutes that Bill is in no state to sing. He stays stubbornly in the booth, wholly determined to get it right. Mike can see the glint of spite in his eyes as he spits out the lines. The words they so carefully crafted together seem to take on whole new meanings as Mike listens, fully aware that they’re all being spit at him.

            It’s not that Bill doesn’t sound good- Bill always sounds good. Finally the engineer grabs the talk-back mic and says what they’ve all been thinking: “Dude, what’s going on? You’re singing this song like it’s Checkmarks. I want to hear soul; I want to hear desire. You’re giving me fuckin’ vitriol.”

            This time it isn’t Bill who storms out, it’s Mike. As Bill splutters, fumes coming out of his ears, Mike launches himself out of his chair. “Why don’t you guys work on that drum part you were talking about last time?” he mutters to the others as he pushes into the booth and hauls Bill out into the hallway.

            “What the fuck?” Bill starts, “I was gonna get it. And who are you, the fucking quality control police? It’s not like you’ve never spent an afternoon trying to get the right fucking solo take.”

            “Shut up,” Mike growls as he turns Bill around, back to the wall. Before Bill can start ranting again, Mike takes a deep breath and leans up to kiss Bill.

            Mike’s first thought is how ridiculous it is that he has to stand on his toes to kiss anyone. But then Bill tilts his head down, hands grasping spastically at Mike’s hair, and everything is perfect. Bill is warm and wet and somehow he tastes like raspberries, and Mike decides this wasn’t a terrible idea. Bill juts his chin out and whines, asking for more at the same time he’s pushing down against Mike’s lips, trying to take control. _Hell no,_ Mike thinks. Mike has spent a lot of time listening to Bill recently; this time Bill is going to listen to him. Mike’s hands find Bill’s hips and press back him into the wall, biting Bill’s bottom lip hard enough to make him groan. Bill responds by enthusiastically sticking his tongue into Mike’s mouth.

            Before things can get too out of hand, Mike takes a step back. Bill whines as he pulls away, rutting his hips into Mike’s. They’re both breathing hard, panting into the space between their faces. Bill opens his mouth to start talking again, and Mike fights the urge to go right back to kissing. He’s not sure he wants to hear what Bill is about to say. In fact, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t.

            But for once it seems like Bill isn’t sure what he wants to say either, and he stands there for a minute looking like a goldfish.

            “We should probably get back in there before they wonder where we’ve gone,” Mike says. Logically he knows that this is a common enough occurrence (Bill storming out, not the kissing) that no one will question it. But he needs something to say, to put some distance between him and the feelings that are threatening to appear, and this seems like as good a shield as any. “Are you gonna be ok this time?”

            Bill nods faintly, looking more confused than ever. Mike turns to leave, but Bill catches his wrist before he can get very far.

            “You can’t just…” Bill says, his eyes a million miles away. “Are you… Are you gonna stay?” Bill sounds lost and hopeful all at once, like a child. It breaks Mike’s heart.

            “Yeah,” he says firmly, “I’m right here with you. Where I’ve always been.” Bill smiles for the first time all day. The next thing he knows, Mike is staggering towards the floor as Bill launches himself at him. Trying to keep from both falling and dropping Bill, Mike regains his balance. He stands there for a second, supporting Bill’s weight as Bill wraps his arms around his head.

            “Mike? Have you managed to calm the savage beast yet?” Sisky pokes his head out of the doorway and rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. Get your asses back in here!”

            Mike feels a traitorous smile work its way onto his lips as he drops Bill gracelessly to the floor. Ignoring the murderous sounds Bill makes as he picks himself up off the floor, Mike follows him back into the studio. _Yknow, maybe this wasn’t such a bad outcome_ , he thinks to himself, watching the sway of Bill’s hips as he dances towards the mixing console.


End file.
